


Sea of Voices

by Honee



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Another Reader insert, BAMF Reader, Canon-Typical Behavior, Fluff, Fuck gender, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Maybe - Freeform, Swearing, TommyInnit Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, ahaha what else um, anyway reader adopts 1 child and maybe gains more later on ahah, anyway tags, as they should be, author is once again projecting onto tommyinnit, bonding moment!, but they take one look at the reader and go: this one, dadza is canon here but he kinda sucks we'll see, gender neutral reader, idk he did kill a child so im not too keen on a redemption arc, im coping in the only way i know how, more at 10, obvs lol, oh yeah he has trauma, oops adopting a teen AGAIN oh reader u silly goose, reader doesnt originally have the voices, shut up shut up shut up, so does the reader, we like this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honee/pseuds/Honee
Summary: You’ve been alone in your survival world for as long as you can remember.Maybe you were a little too numb to the concept of death and a little too out of practice with social interactions, but that’s fine. It’s not like you went out of your way to talk to anyone, anyway.Until a half-dead blonde kid washes up on the shore, cussing you out in his barely conscious state.Guess you’re not alone anymore.Oh yeah, the voices are there, too.
Relationships: Friendship - Relationship, [glances at my reader inserts], and mild adoption, do you see a pattern here, okay maybe major adoption
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	Sea of Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw // depressing thoughts, injuries, descriptions of icky stuff like burning flesh and blood, canon-typical stuff for tommyinnit ig? let me know if there's anything to add.
> 
> It's a normal day for you.
> 
> At least, at first it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so the reader lives in a modded world if that makes sense? idk i was playing on a modded world when i got inspired for this story and i just think mods r neat! also lets not talk about my other piece of work it's noooot that i've abandoned it i just get inspiration in random bursts and i let it lead me to wherever it goes. this is where it took me. hahaha don't look at me bc i will start sobbing about c!tommy again.

Waking up in your bed is a usual experience on a typical morning in this survival world that you’ve found yourself in for the last four years now. The sun peeks through the window and shines on your face, as though the world outside refuses to let you sleep another minute. It’s begging you to go out and explore, to fight some monsters, find some treasures and maybe even add a few new buildings to the ghost town you have created for yourself in your time alone.

You tell it to fuck off, through muffled groans as your press your face further into your pillow, trying to block out the sun and gain another couple hours of sleep. Though, like every morning that you’ve spent here, once the sky's awake, the whole world comes awake and drags you kicking and screaming along with it.

The dragging today comes in the form of a certain greedy bastard cat scratching away at the door, meowing and yowling his little heart out as though he was performing a symphony created only for the greatest lovers of opera. 

Dickhead.

With one final groan, you push yourself out of bed and mentally prepare yourself to start the day. The yowling comes to a halt as you push open your bedroom door and instead you’re greeted with a happy chirp from your oldest pet and by technicality- your oldest friend.

Yes, the cat is your oldest friend. William Winston The First. Technically, he’s the only. You could never be bothered to get another cat and if you ever did, you definitely wouldn’t call it William Winston The Second. 

You call him Boots, for short. Because his paws all have different colours that look like boots. Adorable.

He’s a smug piece of shit and you swear you hate him with all your being.

He rubs against your ankle and purrs and all that hatred melts away immediately.

“Hey, stupid.” You yawn out a greeting, bending down to scratch his neck, which he delights in. “You want brekkie, huh?”

Another chirp from him, and you start your stumble down the stairs and to the kitchen. Boots trots ahead, leading you over to his food tray, where he sits expectantly, ear twitching as he waits for the delivery of his meal and water. You open the cupboard above the sink, hand-crafted (made by yourself, just like everything else in this house) and made of oak, with intricate designs that you spent hours carving; just another way to pass the time and stop the boredom. Waiting for the day you could finally escape this lonely, lonely world.

You push aside the depressing thoughts and pour your cat his breakfast. He meows as a thanks and you can’t help but smile. Before frowning. The bag of home-made cat food is getting lighter and you don’t have any local villages to run through (even if you did, you’re sure it would be abandoned, just like every other village you’ve come across). You’re going to have to go fishing today.

Once he’s all sorted, you grab some bread and stuff it in your mouth, just managing not to choke on the shitty excuse for a meal as you grab your sword, stuff a fishing pole into your backpack, swing it onto your back and head out the door in order to start the day that the world has prepared for you.

Like usual, there are a few remaining zombies, skeletons and creepers; they tend to take shelter under the trees that make up the foundation of your treehouse, which is annoying to say the least.

Still though, it doesn’t take you long to clean up the mess of monsters. Within thirty minutes of stepping outside, the whole outer area of your property has been cleared of enemies; with minimal creeper holes to fill in.

Thank god, you hated filling up creeper holes. You hated creepers in general, the bastards were everywhere and you had lost good materials far too many times now by simply not reacting quick enough when hearing the telltale sizzle that came before the explosions.

Your hands are stained in gunpowder and you have nearly a whole stack of bones tuck into your bag as you chuck chunks of decomposing flesh into your garbage disposal (a pool of lava which you have fallen into too many times to count now). Your nose twitches at the smell that the burning material leaves behind, but you no longer grimace at it. You have grown used to this routine by now to be affected by such mediocre things like a bad smell.

Still, the smell of the slimy stuff lingers on your hands, mixing in with the gunpowder and creates an odour that almost gets to you, but not quite.

Once everything that needs to be gotten rid of has been dumped, you hop down from the edge of the lava pool and start making your way towards the beach. There’s a river that runs down to it and you’re sure the water is clean enough to wash your hands in; you’ve been collecting water and drinking from there since you first settled in this area and if it wasn’t healthy, you’re pretty sure you would have keeled over and died by now.

See? It’s fine. You can also do some fishing and bring home food for both you and Boots; a win-win situation in your opinion. 

The smell of the sea hits you before the sight of it does. As always, you can’t help but feel a little breathless, staring at the vast expanse of ocean in front of you. An inner part of you craves to go right now, to pack up everything, grab a boat and sail away from everything you’ve grown familiar with.

You push that part away though, you can’t leave. You can travel by foot, scouring the land for any glimpse of life, as long as you can always head home at the end of your journey and be greeted by your bed and your cat.

You’re afraid that if you left on a boat, you may never come back; whether by choice, you're not sure. 

And who else would feed your cat?

So no, you stay with your feet planted firmly on the ground as you unpack your bag, setting up your fishing pole and getting ready for a calm afternoon out by the deep blue sea.

The water shimmers under the blazing sun and as you scan the water for any sign of fish, you swear the blue turns to a deeper murkier red.

Stop. Go back.

That’s not right. 

Red? What?

You are still, staring at the cloudy red water which slowly spreads across the edge of the ocean that you sit by. It grows lighter and lighter and it spreads out and as your eyes follow the stains, it disappears into the aquamarine. Like it was never there.

But it had to come from somewhere.

Something.

Someone?

You stand quickly and you move into action faster than your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re standing with your feet sinking into the sand and the next you’re hurrying along the shoreline, your backpack abandoned as you follow the bloodstained water to wherever it might lead.

You don’t know why you’re getting your hopes up. There’s nothing to indicate that this is human blood. For all you know, it could be coming from the scraps of a lesser dragon’s latest meal.

Yet, there’s something about the way your heart is thumping erratically, the way your legs ache as you rush onwards, the way your head screams at you to-

_ HURRY. SAVE HIM. NO PHANTOMMY TODAY. A NEW PLAYER? HELP HIM, STRANGER. _

Those aren’t your thoughts. They don’t sound like you. It’s like a cacophony of voices all pressing down on you at once and you come to a halt, struggling to breathe under the weight of a thousand sounds, a thousand ghosts, a thousand strangers all begging for you to do something.

Red catches your eye and those voices scream out in harmony as you freeze. 

There is a body in front of you and it is small and bony and covered in red, but unmistakable as a human. Blonde hair matted with red and pale skin covered in bruises, a red and white shirt stained with mud, trousers torn almost beyond repair and bare, bleeding feet. 

You’d think it was a corpse if you couldn’t make out the slight rise and fall of the chest of the boy. 

Of the child.

Oh god, a fucking child.

_ SAVE HIM. _

The voices scream again and this time you don’t hesitate. There is a determination and a desperation filling your entire body. You don’t know what stems from you and what stems from the ghosts surrounding your thoughts but you know one thing as you scoop him up in your arms (is it that you have grown strong? Or is he just far too light?).

You are not going to let this boy die. What a cruel fate that would be.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments feed me pls comment this isn't an offer this is a threat.


End file.
